I see your true colors shining through

My hometown has been in the news this week for reasons that do not make me proud. Two African-American gentlemen walked into a Philadelphia Starbucks and sat down to wait for a colleague. This apparently made the manager of the Starbucks uneasy. Having two African-American men waiting at a table was more than this particular Starbucks manager could take. He called the police. After a discussion that referenced Starbucks company policy and a disobeyed order to leave the premises, the two gentlemen were placed in police custody, handcuffed just as their friend was entering the Starbucks to make their appointment. A cellphone video, posted to YouTube, shows the friend questioning the nature of the arrest... and receiving no real answer. The men were questioned at police headquarters and eventually released at approximately 2 AM — nearly nine and a half hours after the police were called. In the days following, protesters patroled the area outside the Starbucks at 1801 Spruce Street. Kevin Johnson, CEO of Starbucks for under a year, came to Philadelphia to apologize to the gentlemen in person. Both Philadelphia Police Commissioner Richard Ross and Philadelphia Mayor Jim Kenney apologized to the two gentlemen for the way the incident was handled by the arresting officers. The whole incident was embarrassing and infuriating. I still find it puzzling that such blatant racism still exists in the United States in 2018.

Last October, my wife and I were on a cruise. During the course of our week at sea, we made friends with a variety of folks who were on the Norwegian Breakaway for the same reason we were. One afternoon, early in our trip, Mrs P and I were participating in a rousing game of Pictionary with some of our fellow cruisers. In between rounds, we made small talk with the other players, mostly discussing about the up-coming ports-of-call and where everybody hailed from. My wife struck up a conversation with a multi-generational family who, like us, called Philadelphia home. A friendly older woman revealed that they were  travelling with a church group from Southwest Philadelphia. As Mrs. P and this woman chit-chatted, a young girl sort of clung to the woman, silently taking in the conversation, trying to figure out who this lady was that was talking to — we later discovered — her grandmother. The little girl was about seven or eight and displayed an air of suspicion. She watched with wide eyes and exercised caution, staying behind the protection of her grandmother. Her grandmother, on the other hand, was quite animated and talkative and the conversation soon branched out past "where do you live?" and entered other areas of shared interest.

During the week, we saw this little family at the buffet, near the pool, walking the common areas, at activities, as well at the first of several late-night movies. As the time went on, the little girl became less and less timid. By Day Two, she actually introduced herself as "Anissa," careful to pronounce it "Ah-NEES-a," as though we would only get one chance and we better say it correctly every time we used it. Mrs Pincus, a natural Pied Piper of children, told Anissa that there was a famous child actress with that name who was very popular and she even pronounced it the same way. Anissa smiled and showed signs of warming up. She asked us if we have any children. I answered her by pulling up a picture of our thirty-year old son on my cellphone. Anissa asked us about pets and we told her that we do not have any currently, but we did have cats — on and off — for years. She asked more questions and we answered the ones that we could. We could see that Anissa was becoming more comfortable with these people who talked to her grandmother. By Day Three, Anissa was shrieking "SUSIE!" with delight when she spotted my wife scooping herself a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. Later the same day, we again heard the unmistakable cry of "SUSIE!" as we took our places for an afternoon session of trivia — our favorite shipboard pastime. Anissa even took a spot in a chair next to Mrs. P.

One late afternoon about midway through our trip, Mrs. P and I settled into a couple of overstuffed chairs in the ship's Atrium to watch a documentary about swing dancing on a two-story projection screen. Just before the film started, a young man we had not met before came over to us and asked how we know so much trivia. Evidently, he had witnessed the mind-numbing expertise we exhibit while answering the silly, general knowledge questions that were posed. Mrs. P and I laughed and explained that we watch a lot of television, watch a lot of movies and just have an uncanny knack for remembering useless tidbits of information. He laughed, thanked us for our candor and strolled off. As he did, he passed Anissa who appeared with her family and greeted us (actually just my wife) with a loud, excited "SUSIE!" She stood between us and asked — in all earnest and innocence — if that boy we were talking to was our son. She followed up by asking if we were with her church group.

I must interrupt this story for a brief explanation.

Anissa and her family were African-American. The young man who asked about our knowledge of trivia was African-American. My wife and I are Caucasian. 

Anissa, apparently, saw none of that. She merely saw us speaking with a young man older than she, but young enough to be the son we often mentioned in our conversations. Anissa didn't see skin color. At all. For the entire week. We were so taken by Anissa's "matter-of-fact" untainted outlook. It made me wonder if Anissa couldn't be the teacher from which we all can learn. All of us.

any colour you like

Earlier this week, the United States Treasury Department announced plans to remove the portrait of Andrew Jackson, the seventh President of the United States, from the twenty-dollar bill and replace it with the image of Harriet Tubman, the courageous and defiant freedom fighter and fierce proponent of the Underground Railroad. Andrew Jackson, who has only graced the monetary note since 1928, was the owner of over 500 slaves. He fought and won the bloody Battle of New Orleans in which 285 British troops were killed and nearly 500 hundred were captured. Unfortunately, The Treaty of Ghent — that ended the War of 1812 — had been signed several weeks earlier. He started wars with many tribes of Native Americans and, as President, he signed the Indian Removal Act of 1830, forcing tens of thousands of Native Americans off of their land.

When the news of the redesigned twenty-dollar bill was made public, Twitter and other media outlets lit up like a bunch of racists igniting Southern-purchased fireworks on the Fourth of July. I could not believe the amount of blatant, unbridled bigotry I was seeing in my Twitter feed. There were feeble references to "tradition" and "respect" regarding Andrew Jackson coupled with flat out insults and historical unfamiliarity and misinformation in reference to Harriet Tubman. It made me think that all of the talk of "equality" and "opportunity" and "inclusion" and "freedoms" are just bullshit as far as a lot of people in this country are concerned. I see textbook examples of those types of people during highlights of every "Donald Trump for President" campaign rally. Those people, waving their flags and throwing punches at anyone who doesn't look like they do, are the voice of the racism and prejudice that exists in our great nation.

The thought of bigotry makes me nauseous. Partly because it's just wrong to arbitrarily discriminate against people because of their skin color, national heritage or religious beliefs. Partly because my father and grandmother regularly discriminated against people because of their skin color, national heritage or religious beliefs. It was something I grew up with, something I knew was wrong and something from which I promised to distance myself.

Colorful.

So, after a full day of monitoring my little corner of the internet spew its racist opinions about something as insignificant as whose picture is on money, as though a change will disrupt the delicate balance of..... whatever,* my work day ended. I boarded my train and came home. My wife met me at the train station. As I got into her car, she told me that she had sold a large Little Tykes climbing structure that my nieces had outgrown. Mrs. P had listed the piece on a local Facebook "yard sale" page and it sold almost immediately. The toy was in my in-laws' backyard and a couple were coming to pick it up shortly.  She needed some help maneuvering the awkward and bulky piece to a more convenient spot near the driveway. Once we got to the yard, we decided to take a shot at disassembling the structure and we were successful. When the buyers showed up — right on schedule — they were happy to fit each piece in the back of their SUV.

The toy had, in reality, belonged to a friend of my mother-in-law. A very nice woman that I know well. At least I thought I knew her well. After the transaction was completed and the happy buyers were on their way, my mother-in-law called her friend as were gathered around the kitchen table for a quick dinner. Although the phone was cradled and pressed close to my mother-in-law's ear, we easily heard both sides of the conversation. My mother-in-law explained that Mrs. P has sold the piece and the method through which the sale was made. We could hear squeals of approval and a few questions about the condition of the piece and the about the buyers  — including one question that made me bristle.

"Were they white?," she asked. We heard it clear as crystal.

I was dumbfounded. The purchase was made and the buyers were happy. I couldn't understand what their race could possibly have to do with.... with..... anything. The only color that mattered was that their money was green.

That's really the only concern that anyone should have with whose picture is on it.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com


*Hey! Remember when quarters began sporting different state imagery for over a decade? Didn't destroy us, did it?